"What's that?" demanded my niece, who - having exhausted all the stuff in my toybox - was rampaging around my room looking for other things to play with. (This, in itself, was unadvisable, as my room currently looks like a bomb site, being as it is currently under a transformation of sorts, to make it look as if there's more space than there actually is. I was pleased, anyway, that she hadn't chanced upon my soft porn, hentai comic and condoms.)
"I'm sorry?" I politely inquired.
"What's that toy up there?" she repeated, pointing one pudgy little finger to the top of my cupboard. There, just underneath a sleeping bag on top of an AD&D box, provocatively hung my soft, green Robin Hood sash. In a flash, I remembered putting it there, it looking exactly as it always has, and more importantly, the events of the night which preceded it.
"Oh, that's not a toy," I said to the three-year-old.
She turned away, clearly bored with my lack of explanation, and toddled off.
"At least," I said to myself, "it's not always a toy."
I followed her back downstairs, smirking as I went.